Photographs
by mtothedestiel
Summary: After the Apocalypse that wasn't, Dean and Cas build a life together.


Eventually, they actually bought a house. It was a white, plain, split level ranch that Dean had fallen in love with the minute they walked in. That very night Castiel had cashed in the flickering remains of his grace, clearing Dean's records and his credit.

"We will still have to work hard to keep it," Castiel told him when he presented Dean with the sale papers, "My Grace was not enough to generate all the money we needed. But we have enough for a down payment, and the mortgage is manageable if we are sparing in our other expenses-"

Dean took the papers, setting them on the motel bed to clasp Castiel's now human hands in his own. Dean's eyes widened and Cas knew the moment Dean touched his skin that he had realized Castiel's Grace was gone.

"You did this for me?" Dean asked in awe. Castiel brought their joined hands to his lips, Dean's calloused skin a caress against his own.

"I wanted you to have a home," Castiel said. Dean gathered him close then, burying his face in Castiel's dark hair. Castiel knew without a doubt that he had made the right choice.

"You've always been my home Cas," Dean whispered into his rebellious locks, placing a kiss on Castiel's temple, "We'll sign the papers tomorrow."

A visitor to their house today might find it strange. Despite his inexperience with humanity, Castiel realizes that it is not decorated in the typical style of their neighbors. What puts people ill at ease, he has realized, is the lack of photographs. The walls remain mainly the soft grey that they were painted when they moved in, with only a few sparse images held up with plastic push pins. By the hook where Castiel hangs his long tan coat there is a young blonde woman, laughing as she reaches toward the camera, as if to knock it out of the way. Above the couch an old man and a motherly woman hold matching scotch glasses, poor use of camera flash not able to eliminate the warmth in their eyes as they gaze at each other across the table. Only this morning on the fridge there had appeared a wrinkled and worn image, perhaps carried inside a jacket pocket for many months. In it a long limbed young man sits on the roof of a classic car. He holds a beer, and his brown hair curls over his unlined brow. He looks at the camera out of the corner of his eye; a smirk pulling at his lips, as though he knows it's there but magnanimously chooses to tolerate it. Castiel runs his fingers over this last image, a small and wistful smile ghosting across his face. Their neighbors would never understand, because they would never know Dean like Castiel did. They would never know that each photograph for Castiel was a reason for celebration. Each faded and glossy image meant another person who Dean was finally ready to look at again, and maybe someday even talk about.

A strong pair of arms wrapped around Castiel's waist as a chin came to rest on his shoulder. Castiel relaxed into Dean's hold, resting his hand along the former hunter's stubbled jaw.

"Hello Dean."

"Hey Cas." They stood silently together in the kitchen, both gazing at the photograph on the fridge.

"I think Sam would have liked it here." It was the first time Dean had said his name in almost a year.

"I think so too." Castiel gripped Dean's hands were they rested on his belly. Dean pressed his lips softly to the pulse in Castiel's neck.

"Come upstairs with me," he whispered. Castiel followed his partner up the stairs to their shared bedroom.

Their room was as plain as the rest of the house, the only spark of color coming from the warm quilted bedspread that they had found at a yard sale. But Castiel's eyes were drawn up above the bed, where on the previously blank wall now hung two small picture frames. They had no glass, and instead of paper photographs they each held a leather wallet that Dean must have mounted with tacks. The wallets were open to reveal two forged FBI badges.

"These are from-" Castiel realized with a start.

"Our first case together, yeah," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck self consciously, "I've been going through some of our old stuff, and I found them, and it's not like were ever gonna use them again, so…"

Castiel stopped his nervous chatter with a kiss.

"They're perfect for us," Castiel assured him. Dean smiled, a sight that was becoming less and less rare but still lit Castiel up from the inside out as Dean melted into his touch.

"There is one correction I would make," Castiel said, considering the frames, "May I?"

Dean nodded, and Castiel quickly kissed the corner of his mouth before climbing up onto the bed. He gently lifted the frame which held his own badge; pausing to look at the awkward, inhuman soldier he had been only two years ago. Then with a smile he turned the frame upside down and returned it to the wall, straightening it carefully so that it hung level next to Dean's.

"Just as it was," Castiel said, before turning back to Dean. Many things had changed since that day, he thought as he held his hands out to his partner. Many things had been lost. But, Castiel thought as he pulled Dean down onto their bed, letting his weight press him gently into the mattress, they still had many of the things that really mattered. And as Dean laughed, a soft, light sound, when Castiel's fingertips tickled against his skin, Castiel realized that many more things might someday still come back.


End file.
